#(But this IS me reacting to the fact I probably should gif and cap all the relevant info this ep too)

[heliads]

To Protect and to Provide

Based on this request: "Zemo x Reader: The reader goes on a mission with him, sam and bucky but get injured somehow and Zemo is worried about her"

masterlist

Sam and Bucky are arguing. Again.

This makes it- what, the tenth time this week? That’s just going off of the stuff you’ve seen on the security cams and by tailing them for the last couple of days to see what you’ve gotten yourself into by approving Bucky Barnes’ request for help.

Note to self: tell Sam and Bucky to get better at not having important, federal secret-centric conversations directly in front of security cameras. It’s getting annoying to have to keep deleting them from the footage.

However, you feel that they’re justified in fighting this time. Bucky has taken the liberty of freeing Baron Helmut Zemo from prison, something that definitely should have had Sam’s approval. It probably should have had your approval as well, seeing as you’re one of the agents who had to handle the damage Zemo dealt in the first place, but Bucky’s always been more of a lone wolf. He’ll ask for forgiveness afterwards if it suits him, but you don’t mind.

That’s how things usually work in S.H.I.E.L.D., at any rate; you do your work as a solo agent and apologize for any red tape you crossed while you were out in the field. Still, you suppose you never did something as drastic as liberating the man who fractured the Avengers into pieces.

Sam is, understandably, reacting poorly to the news, especially when confronted with a newly freed Baron Zemo face to face. From your vantage point hidden in the shadows and out of their lines of sight, you can see every concerned furrow of his brow.

“Why could this possibly be a good idea? Sure, maybe the guy could have some insight on tracking down supersoldiers, but I’m finding it difficult to believe he’s not going to betray us. Are you forgetting what he did?”

Bucky sighs. “I’m not forgetting that. I’m also not forgetting that we need help locating the Flag Smashers, or a lot of people other than the Avengers are going to get hurt.”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly fatigued from the weight of Zemo’s additional responsibility. “And how are we supposed to find and fight the Flag Smashers while also keeping an eye on Zemo?”

Bucky takes a half step forward, pleased that the conversation has finally gone the way he’d hoped. “Actually, I already thought about that and got some additional security.”

Sam looks suspicious, likely because Bucky’s last great idea involved getting Zemo out of his cell. “Who’s your security?”

This seems as good a time for a dramatic entrance as any. You step forward from the shadows, allowing the light to finally illuminate your face and expose you as having been here all along.

“That would be me. I’m Y/N L/N, and I’ve been with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a very long time. Making sure people don’t stab you in the back is kind of my specialty.”

Sam startles slightly at your abrupt entrance, although Bucky just looks as if he’s been expecting something like this. Zemo takes off his borrowed prison guard’s cap the moment his eyes land on you, the picture of a perfect gentleman. Even after Sam starts talking, the baron’s gaze still remains captivated by you.

“Y/N L/N, huh? I think I remember Steve saying your name once in passing.” Sam says.

You nod. “I’ve worked with the Avengers before, most notably helping Steve find Bucky when he first turned up as the Winter Soldier. You don’t have to trust me as much as he did, but you can count on the fact that I’m not going to let you die.”

Sam stares at you for a moment longer, then shrugs. “Alright. You know what, alright. Supposing this plan works, we’re probably going to need all the help we can get. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Sounds good to you. Sam seems to accept your presence pretty well, especially after you have to save their collective asses from a shootout about half an hour later. Bucky seems happy that he’s at least temporarily alleviated Sam’s wrath over breaking Zemo out, so a tentatively good mood has stretched over the group.

The reaction to your presence that surprises you the most is Zemo. You assumed he would be as unnervingly calculating with you as he is Sam and Bucky, or at least talk to you with some form of passive aggressive nonsense seeing as your being here means it’ll be harder for him to get away with whatever mad scheme he no doubt has planned, but that’s not the case.

In fact, he seems more open to you than anyone else, especially when he realized that you could speak a little Sokovian. As a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent assigned to help with Sokovia during Ultron, and as someone who wants to make sure Wanda Maximoff was in their corner, you figured it couldn’t hurt to have a basic understanding of the language.

You didn’t anticipate it coming in handy now, though. You and Zemo have long conversations on his plane, much to the suspicion of Sam and Bucky, but you couldn’t care less about their opinions of you. You’re still saving their lives, so they can think whatever they want. Besides, Zemo gets this soft smile whenever he hears you slipping over his native syllables, and it fascinates you enough that you want to see it again and again.

Truth be told, you feel a lot closer to Zemo than you strictly should. You still keep him at arm’s length, as per an agent’s tradition, but you have quiet talks as you walk throughout a variety of cities trying to track down the Flag Smashers. Some of these chats happen in Sokovian, others, when Sam and Bucky are getting a little too antsy, are in English so they can hear mild parlor conversation and have their fears averted for the time being.

Zemo is nicer than you thought he would be, maybe that’s what’s getting to you. He asks about your life as an agent, although he only uses questions that have been carefully tailored to not force you to give anything away. Zemo knows that the second you suspect he’s asking around for federal information, you’ll stop talking to him, so he steers clear of damaging topics. It’s a kindness that he does not extend to Bucky, although that could just be his inherent dislike of supersoldiers.

Take tonight, for instance. There will be an expedition into Flag Smashers territory tomorrow, and all signals point to it ending in a fight. You’ve checked your weapons about a dozen times over, and scouted out the area as best you could, but all you can do now is sit tight and wait for the day to come.

You’re leaning against a marble-topped peninsula in the latest hideout, staring at the glass idly placed in your hand. It’s probably not the best to be drinking before a fight, but the mission won’t happen for a couple of hours and it’s only a few tablespoons, anyway. Not that you’ve managed to drink even a swallow of it, though- your nerves are too strong for that. You’re used to impossible missions, but usually you know that death or capture won’t risk your job. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t know you’re here, so you can’t afford to slip up.

Soft footsteps sound across the hall, and moments later the door cracks open and Zemo appears, hovering over the threshold before realizing that you’re here alone and heading inside.

He pours himself a small glass before turning to you. “I cannot imagine the life you lead. Does it not grow tiresome to always risk your life for someone else’s fight?”

You shrug. “If I have to go to war for the lives of the people I care about, it’s always my fight.”

You hazard a glance up, and when you do, Zemo is looking at you with the same soft smile that you typically associate with you saving his life or using some Sokovian phrase because you heard him using it first.

“That’s a very generous sentiment,” he says, taking a step closer to you.

You let him come. “I can be a very generous person. On occasion.”

Zemo laughs, and you think it might be the first time you’ve heard him laugh without a motive, like he’s just a man who can find you funny, not a baron who needs to win to do anything worthwhile.

Then a troubling thought occurs to him, and his smile drops from his face as cleanly as blood falling from a blade.

“Stay safe during this mission tomorrow. You’re no supersoldier, and you can’t heal as easily.”

You arch a brow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever needed the reminder. I’m perfectly aware of my own limits.”

Zemo shakes his head. “I do not mean it as an insult, Y/N, just a warning. Perhaps I do not want to see you hurt.”

You had turned away slightly when he brought up the fact that you weren’t a supersoldier, and now he lays a hand on your arm, gently keeping you close. If you wanted to, you could reach forward and break several bones in his hand, just because he dared to touch you.

Instead, you stay. “I will watch myself if you do,” you offer.

He nods once. “It seems like a fair deal.”

You can’t help but laugh quietly at the earnest shrewdness in his gaze, and raise your glass in agreement. “A fair deal indeed.”

Like it or not, the morning of the mission still comes. You’ll be infiltrating a building with known Flag Smasher activity in the hopes of tracking down Karli Morgenthau long enough to figure out what she wants and where she’ll be going next.

The complex is no doubt teaming with enemy fighters, so stealth is of the utmost importance. Sam and Bucky are approaching from the north side, so Sam can get close to Karli. You and Zemo, however, will come from the south part of the building, searching for computers and hard drives or any source of information that you can take home with you.

The soles of your shoes crunch over gravel and broken asphalt, although you make no other sound as you approach. Gun in hand, you make your way carefully to an unsecured area of the complex, Zemo right behind you. There’s a door partially obscured under a low-hanging portion of the roof, and you’re able to kick it in without too much noise or difficulty.

Wordlessly, you start to move down the hall, and Zemo follows you. A few times, the two of you have to duck behind a large concrete column or head back down a corridor to avoid detection, but the job is done and you remain unseen by any and all Flag Smashers.

This might be a little too much good luck for you. You have yet to see a mission where everything went according to plan. Sure enough, your worries are proved correct when you hear something that sounds like a gunshot echoing out from the other side of the building, followed by ear-piercing klaxons screaming to life.

Bucky’s voice comes crackling in over your comms about half a second later. “They’ve spotted us.”

You grimace. “Yeah, I think I got that.”

Sam sighs amid a crackle of static. “Not helpful, Y/N. Get out now.”

You shake your head, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see you. “There’s a tech room around the corner. Give me thirty seconds and I can get what we need.”

Sam and Bucky erupt into immediate declarations of disapproval, but Zemo’s already beaten them to it. He takes your arm, pulling you into the shadows of a nearby corridor.

“You cannot risk your life like this. We have to call off the mission.”

He’s not wrong about the dangers, but you’ve been in enough situations like this to know that when you’re in, you can’t afford to back out. Leaving now will just make it harder to get that information on the Flag Smashers.

So, you give him your best attempt at a smile. “We need this. Trust me, alright? I’ll be back in a minute.”

You just have enough time to see his face twist into shock before you’re turning and running away back down the hall. There’s no point in trying to remain undercover anymore, as the Flag Smashers obviously know that you’re here, so you skid into the tech room without a second thought.

Luckily, the Flag Smashers only intended on being here temporarily, so they haven’t set up many protocols in place to keep you out. You shove a flash drive into one of the main computers, and start the largest file transfer you can manage.

They’ve already started to catch on to your plan, so you keep your gun aimed at the door, one hand on the trigger and the other poised over the flash drive, ready to take it and run at a moment’s notice. A few guards start pouring in, and you take them down as fast as you can.

You’re still just one person, though, and even if they’re slowed down by the one doorway, you’re going to run out of bullets eventually. The computer behind you beeps, signaling that the file transfer is complete, and you look behind you to retrieve the flash drive.

One moment. That’s how long you were looking away, barely any time at all but just enough for another Flag Smasher to get through the door without you noticing. When you turn back, flash drive in hand, they’re already pulling the trigger.

The bullet hits about a second later. The impact makes it feel as if you’ve been hit by a truck, and you’re pushed backwards on legs that no longer seem to support your weight. Blood is pouring out from the hole in your shirt, and it is not good in the slightest. You manage to fire at the man who’d shot you, granting you a temporary reprieve, but it’s not enough.

Another pair of guards appear in the door, and you know that this is it. You’re going to die from this bullet wound, and there’s no way you can take down both of these guys, what with your vision already tunneling.

As you watch, though, two gunshots ring out and the men fall to the floor. Standing behind them, lowering a smoking gun, is Zemo. His face constricts with horror when he takes in the sight of you, covered in blood and on the ground.

He’s by your side in a second, gently pulling you into his arms. “I need you to stay with me, agent. Just for a little longer.”

You should respond, but you’ve lost so much blood that you can’t quite force your tongue to move. Zemo notices this, and you watch as he desperately calls Sam and Bucky over his comms, asking for medical help.

He picks you up, carrying you through the crowded halls. Zemo has to stop just shy of the door, though, because more Flag Smashers have massed outside the exits, intent on choking you out and not allowing your group to escape.

Zemo’s hand is on your face, gently propping up your head in an attempt to keep you conscious.

“Keep your eyes open, alright? I need you to stay with me for just a little longer.”

He sighs suddenly, the weight of a thousand suns seemingly on his shoulders. “I don’t know why you mean so much to me, but you do. I don’t know why I need you more than breath, more than life, but I do. Just stay with me. Please.”

You want to do as he says, really you do, if just so you can ask him what that means more than anything else. The world is growing suspiciously dark, though, and as much as you try to pay attention to Zemo’s words, you can’t.

You wake to the sound of machines beeping and quiet voices. You hurt all over with the simmering kind of ache that tells you that you’re at least not about to immediately die, although recovery will be hell.

You keep your eyes shut, recognizing two of the voices as Sam and Bucky. They’re talking about the mission you just finished, and the data you were able to retrieve. They appear to be just on their way out, though, as their voices soon fade away and are cut off entirely by a closing door.

Another voice sounds now, calming in its tranquility.

“You can stop feigning sleep now, angel. They’re gone, and you have no more information to overhear that you couldn’t gain just as easily by asking me.”

You smile and open your eyes, revealing Zemo sitting in a chair by your side. You’re in a bed hooked up to an IV, and although there are a considerable amount of bandages wrapped around your midriff, you think that the danger has likely passed.

“Perhaps I like being able to listen in. You shouldn’t fault me for that.”

He chuckles softly. “I have no fault with it, I just think that there are easier ways to go about it. You were shot, you shouldn’t be straining yourself over secrets that I would gladly tell you.”

There’s a warning tone in his voice as he mentions the fact that you were shot, and you grimace.

“Alright, I know I was injured, but I completed the mission. That’s always the primary goal of stuff like this, above the health of the agents when necessary.”

Zemo sighs, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair. “I don’t deny that this is what you were trained to do, but for those of us who would rather not see you rushed into medical care, I wouldn’t mind if you changed a few prerogatives.”

He pauses a moment, then continues. “I meant what I said. I need you alive. I need you with me.”

You weren’t expecting such an honest confession, and it stuns you. Carefully, you mention that you need him as well, but the rush of painkillers no doubt injected into you by happy-go-lucky doctors is getting to your head.

Zemo notices this, and smiles. “Save your strength, love. We can talk about this later.”

You want to talk about it now, while your mind is still firmly entrenched in the topic, but rest does sound rather good. Your eyes flicker shut again, and the last sensation you recall before slipping beneath a sea of sleep is Zemo, pressing a kiss to your forehead. After that, there is nothing at all but a feeling enchanting every one of your dreams that you are blissfully, unimaginably happy.

marvel tag list: @thatfangirl42,  @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv-blog, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crash Course - Bucky Barnes

a/n: this one? im in LOVE with this fic and im not even ashamed of it. there is just something about the MC helping him get used to living in the new century and im a sucker for it. so please enjoy this fluffy piece!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Bucky is a regular at the café where you work at and seeing him struggling with technology, you offer to help him, teaching him the basics while you are both thinking about taking it a little further than just a crash course.

masterlist

The time between the morning rush and lunch time is always quiet, the café is almost completely empty, that’s why Bucky prefers to go out during that time, tuck himself away in the corner of the small but cozy place, a black coffee steaming on the wooden table in front of him, his laptop or a book or his phone reserving his attention, whatever he decides to put his energy into that day.

Today has been a rainy day, therefore the morning was a lot quieter than usually, not many likes to make an extra trip for a coffee in the pouring rain, so you’ve been enjoying the calmness, the soft jazz music playing through the speakers as you are putting away the freshly washed cups behind the counter. As if he has an appointment, Bucky walks into the café with a laptop under his arm, his cap hiding part of his face, but you can still see the shy smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him, the little bell chiming for a second time at his arrival.

“Welcome back, the usual?” you ask as he heads to his spot.

“Yes please,” he nods, shooting you a thankful smile.

You try to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach at the sight of the man, it’s almost ridiculous how you still get nervous when you see him, even though he has been showing up every day at the same time for the past about two months. You just can’t help it, there’s just something in those ocean eyes and perfect manner he always treats you with, something you don’t often get these days. Not many take the time to ask about your day or wish you a good one after you hand them their coffee, but Bucky is different. The same question falls from his lips every time you appear at his table with his order.

“How has your day been going?” he asks when you place the cup next to his laptop that’s loading.

“Pretty quiet, the rain keeps people away,” you chuckle, hoping your blush is not as apparent as it feels. “What about yours?”

“Just the same as usual,” he smiles softly and you nod, though you have no idea what’s usual for him. He might be friendly and quite welcoming when he is sitting at the café, he often chats with you about anything and everything, yet still, you know near nothing about him and his life outside of this place. It’s clear he is the kind of person that prefers to keep things to himself, but sometimes you are so desperate for just the smallest crumb of information about him. With the lack of details, you often find yourself making up things about him, like what his favorite dish is, where he likes to shop, what shows he watches on the TV. You might be entirely wrong about all of these, but it’s all you have.

Moving back behind the counter you busy yourself with cleaning it off as Bucky’s attention shifts to the screen in front of him. There are only two more customers in there and they are quite locked away in their own world as well, a college student working on some kind of assignment on her second espresso and an old lady solving Sudoku at the table near the window, sipping on a nice latte.

You can’t help but glance in his direction every now and then as you move the muffins around on the counter. He seems deeply focused, eyebrows knitted together as he is clicking away on the computer. From the looks of it, he is solving some kind of enigma, but when you walk past his table you see that he has an email open on the screen, his cursor moving around kind of aimlessly.

“Not finding the right words?” you ask, stopping to clean the table next to his that was previously occupied by a young couple. His eyes snap up to you before he huffs shaking his head.

“No, I’m just… terribly bad at IT stuff and I’m supposed to “CC” someone on this email,” he explains, using his fingers to air-quote as he glances back at the screen. “But if I’m being honest I don’t even know what it means,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

You find it amusing, even cute that he is like an old man with these stuff. You’ve seen him struggling to type in a text message before on his flip phone that’s from the last century for sure and now this.

Placing the tray of cups down on the table you move over to him, taking the free chair next to him as you reach for the laptop, but you stop before touching it.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead,” he gestures with a nod.

You turn the device towards yourself as you click a few times, bringing up the option to send a copy of the email to another receiver.

“CC means that more people get the same email. You can put their addresses here. But you can also BCC people, in that case, the original receiver won’t see if the email was sent to others as well,” you explain patiently. Bucky tries his best to focus on the screen and what you’re saying, rather than the way your lips are moving and how badly he wants to taste them.

You haven’t been the only one feeling flustered and like a giddy teenager and Bucky didn’t choose this café as his usual spot for nothing. He spotted you the first time he stumbled in and the way you smiled brightly at everyone and the sweet chiming of your laughter made him want to come back the moment he stepped out that day. So he returned the next day and then the next day again… and now he couldn’t even imagine a day without seeing your eyes light up when he walks in while he can only hope you are just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

You help him send his email and you cheer in victory once it’s done and sent.

“See? It’s not as hard as it seems,” you smile at him gently, patting his arm that’s covered by a hoodie and your eyes fall onto his gloved hands on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I just have a lot of catching up to do from the past seven decades,” he mumbles under his breath, though he immediately regrets not keeping his mouth shut.

Your eyes flicker to his hand once again, then up to meet his gaze and he knows he just outed himself. He is expecting the usual: disgust, disappointment, even fear. That’s how most people react when they find out who he really is. But as he stares back at you, scared like a little kitten, you just smile back at him softly.

It’s not that you haven’t heard of the Avengers, because it’s impossible not to know who they are. You were just not expecting one of them to become a regular at your working place. The few times you saw him on TV he had long hair and his face was covered with a mask, so you’re not surprised you didn’t put the picture together. But knowing now who he is, you don’t see him in a worse lighting. If anything, you feel a little sad that he had to go through so much in his extremely long life.

“Well, feel free to ask any more questions. I’m not an IT guy, but I can help you with everyday stuff,” you tell him and he is in awe at your very normal, very sweet reaction. All he can do is nod as you stand from the table and grab the tray you abandoned not long ago, moving back behind the counter.

When you glance up your gaze meets his as he is still staring at you, nervous, a little anxious, but definitely relieved by your smooth reaction to finding out his identity. You shoot him a bright smile before moving to the table of the old lady who asks for another latte and as Bucky follows your frame move across the room he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

Your offer doesn’t stay unused. In fact, Bucky shows up at the café the next few days with a handful of questions for you, genuine ones, and a few he already knows the answer to, but wants to hear you explain them anyway. And you help him with anything, sitting at his table whenever you have a few free minutes between customers. He asks you about the internet, social media, online data bases and sources, going through a list from the little notebook he always keeps with himself.

The times spent with him are your favorite part of the day. You always look forward to whatever issue Bucky is going to bring up, fearing that one day he might run out of questions, but that just never comes. And you don’t know it, but your little sessions are the highlights of his days as well, listening to your smooth voice as you explain even the smallest things to him with so much patience, he is convinced you should become a teacher.

He thinks about asking you out every day, the question is always on the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing tonight? Would you want to go out with me? Do you want to grab a bite with me after your shift?

However he just never gets to actually say the words out loud. He is growing impatient with himself, he used to have no problem with asking girls out, but seven decades and another life as a brain-washed assassin later, this task feels way too impossible.

You’ve been telling him to get a smartphone for the past couple of days and though he seemed adamant, one day he shows up with a brand new one, still in the box.

“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” you tease him with a dramatic gasp. Chuckling to himself he nods as he places the box to the counter while you are making the order of one of the customers. Today has been a little busier than usually, probably because of the special offer of 10% off from the new Cuban coffee beans your boss ordered in.

“I need a teacher to show me the ropes though.”

“Oh, Bucky, I would love to, but today is a bit crowded,” you pout as you put the lid onto the paper cup and hand it over to the customer, another one already walking in, eyeing the offer written on the black board behind you.

He didn’t even think you wouldn’t say yes, it never occurred to him that the timing might not be the best. You see as his smile slowly disappears from his scruffy face and your heart breaks seeing him like this.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t want to keep you up,” he mumbles feeling defeated, but before he could grab the box from the counter, you put your hand on it, your fingers brushing against his gloved one, the tiny touch making both of you flustered.

“But how about after work?” you suggest and his eyes immediately light up. Spending time with you without any customers interrupting? That sounds like heaven to him.

“Y-you sure? If you have something to do, I—“

“Nothing to do,” you smile at him. You grab a napkin from the counter and a pan from near the cash register, quickly scribbling down your address before handing it over to him. “I’ll be home by seven,” you inform him as he glances down at your handwriting, noting how well it fits your personality. He then looks back at you nodding, as if he was just handed the best Christmas present ever.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles gratefully before stepping away from the counter and letting you work.

 Five minutes after seven, Bucky is standing at your front door with a bag of Chinese food in his hands as he is trying to build up the courage to ring your doorbell. He found out that you live just a few corners away from the café, so he found your address easily.

“Come on, dude. Don’t be such a loser,” he mumbles to himself as he circles his shoulders before finally pushing the button. A short, buzzing sound is heard from the other side of the door and he stares at the 6B sign in front of you as he hears footsteps from inside. A few moments later the door swings open and there you are, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, a bright smile adorning your face as you beam at your guest.

“Come on in!” you gesture for him as he steps into the small apartment. “Tried to clean up a bit, but if I’m being honest I’m starting to grow out this place,” you chuckle as you push a box out of the way. It’s a small studio apartment with everything cramped into one space except the bathroom. You have a double bed pushed up against the wall in the corner, a small sofa with your wardrobe next to it, a TV, a tiny coffee table, a bookshelf and a dresser, a little dining table near the kitchen with three chairs and a pantry right next to the fridge that stands where the hardwood floor changes into checkered tiles. It really is a tiny space that holds a lot of stuff, but all the gadgets and clutter makes it cozy, lived-in, a place that’s so much like you that he feels like he is peeking inside your head as he walks farther inside.

“I brought dinner,” he shyly holds the bag up as you lock the door.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” you smile at him gratefully, because you didn’t really have time to buy anything on your way home since you had to make a quick trip to the post office after your shift, leaving you no spare time before his arrival.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help,” he smiles as you take the bag from him and bring it to the designated living room area of the place. Bucky joins you on the sofa and he thanks all higher powers your place is so small that you only have a loveseat, giving him the chance to sit close to you. Your thigh brushes against his as you hand him a box and make yourself comfortable as well, starting your feast while he asks you about your day, listening to your every word intently.

When the food is gone and you’ve grabbed two beers for the two of you, he pulls out the phone that’s the reason behind his visit. He bought a simple one, not at all one of the latest versions and it’s going to be the perfect model for him to learn the ropes on.

You help him put his SIM card into the new phone and then you set his account up before finally gaining access to the phone. You start with the basic features, showing him how to make a call or send a text before moving onto the different apps and possibilities while he listens to you as if you were talking about rocket science, but in a way, it feels like that for him.

“And here you can switch to the front camera,” you explain as you push the button and suddenly, the two of you come into picture on the screen. “Perfect for taking selfies,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, selfies. I’m not too good with those,” he huffs shaking his head.

“Because you probably haven’t found your angle!” you smirk. “Everyone has a good angle.”

“You think so?” you knits his eyebrows together.

“Mhm, look!”

Opening the contacts you go to yours, choosing the option to add a picture that will show up on the screen when you call him, and open the camera to take one instead of choosing from the empty gallery. Holding up the phone you position it so your good angle is in the picture before snapping the photo and saving it as your caller ID.

“See?” you smile at him before handing the device back to him. He just nods, even though he can only think about how all your angles are perfect to him and that now he has a picture of you in his phone. “Let’s take one together!” you beam and moving closer to him you take the phone once again, holding it up in front of you, trying to fit both of you into the frame.

Bucky tries his best to focus on the picture, but he can’t ignore how close you are to him, he can smell your shampoo and your cheek is almost pressed against his as you smile into the camera. The corners of his mouth curl up as his eyes fix at your reflection on the screen before you snap the photo. Opening up the camera roll you take a better look at it and it’s probably your favorite photo that has ever been taken of you. Mostly because he is in it as well, smiling so sweetly.

“It’s a good one,” you say and as you turn your head to the side you realize how close you really are to him.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, definitely aware of just the few inches separating the two of you.

“I-if you had an Instagram I would tell you to post it…” you stutter as your eyes flicker down to his lips, the urge to lean in and kiss him growing with each passing second.

Feeling a little dizzy, one of your hands fall to his lower arm, the one that’s made out of metal and your gaze drops to where you are touching him, a panic filled look flashing through his eyes.

He thinks that this is where the moment is ruined, where you realize the monster he really is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him. He almost starts to apologize for God knows what reason when you reach out and your fingers start to work on the straps of his gloves. It takes a few moments for him to realize what you are doing, and he tries to pull his hand back, but you grab it stopping him from doing it.

“It’s alright,” you smile at him softly, your eyes meeting his as you finish what you started and pull the glove off his hand revealing the metal underneath the leather. Then you move onto his other hand and do the same, dropping the pair of gloves to the floor as you take both his hands in yours, thumbs running across his knuckles, feeling the difference between his own hand and the artificial one.

You see his jaw flexing at the touch and reaching up you cup his cheek in your palm, making him to look you in the eyes. The strong and confident man you see sometimes is gone now, fear and hesitation taking over his expression as your other hand keeps holding his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from his lips as he closes his eyes for a second.

“For what exactly?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t have to hide yourself around me.”

“You don’t find it… scary?”

“Not at all,” you assure him. “You can’t be held accountable for what happened to you. Anyone who thinks differently is just an ignorant asshole,” you add grinning and it finally breaks his fearful expression, planting a smile on his handsome face.

Keeping your hand on his cheek you lean closer, your nose touching his but you stop before your lips could meet, giving him the chance to pull back. But he never does. Instead, he closes the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, finally making the fantasy you both have been daydreaming about reality. He starts off slowly, savoring each other gently, getting accustomed to the feeling, but it doesn’t take long before the kiss grows hungrier and your tongues meet in the middle.

Your hands rest at the base of his neck while his find your waist, pulling you closer until you swing a leg over him, sitting on his lap as you smile against his lips. His kisses feel delicate and soft yet very passionate at the same time, you love the dynamic you create, tugging and biting each other playfully, it feels like kissing him is the sole purpose of your life.

When it gets hard for you to breathe you pull back, eyes opening and finding his flushed face as he stares back at you with bright, joyous eyes, his lips slightly swollen, already making you want to go back to where you were just a moment ago.

“Who knew selfies could be so much fun,” he jokes making you laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound that’s so dear to him.

“I’m glad you liked my crash course on smart phones,” you grin down at him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Do you have any more questions?”

Smirking his hand, his flesh one, moves up your back as he presses you closer, your lips almost touching his.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckles before kissing you again eagerly.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It And I’m Yours-Ch.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Language, stalking ish themes

Words: 1490

Summary: Steve is considering retiring from being Captain America. He doesn’t remember why he took the shield or what it means for him anymore. Then he met you. 

A/N: First and foremost I am SO SORRY FOR BEING SO SHIT AT SUMMARIES. I just don’t want to give anything away. Second, this is my first series! So like, comment, reblog, let me know you want to see more of this. This story is going to start in Steve’s perspective and switch to the readers. I’ll let you guys know when the POV is shifting so no worries. So, this first chapter is told through Steve. Third, if I missed any warnings please let me know. Last but most CERTAINTLY not least, a very VERY special thanks to @river-soul​ for reading through this and assuring me it was a good first chapter. I am so grateful for you. Let me know what you think! (Gif by @navybrat817 )

“Steve, she's getting married tomorrow,” Bucky solemnly states as he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “If you’re going to do something you better do it soon.” 

“I know Buck, but what could I say to her? I haven’t been able to tell her how I feel about her for years.” Steve looked out over the lake, his eyes pricking with tears. “She made her decision.” 

“You’re an idiot. You’ve been in love with her since you first saw her. If you don’t tell her, she’s going to make the biggest mistake of her life. We both know that,” Bucky sighed, raking a hand over his face. “I know she loves you. You need to talk to her. She can’t marry him Steve, you know the second she does she’ll be gone forever. The person you knew reduced to, whatever this shell of a person is.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked down where the water was gently lapping against the shore. After a few moments, he heard Bucky make his way back to the lodge. As the small waves ebbed and flowed against the shallow shore Steve thought about you and how he was an absolute coward back when you were a big part of his life. 

One and a half years ago

Steve was sketching at Marine Park in Brooklyn during golden hour when everything seemed to glow. He needed a break from his Captain America responsibilities and every time he put his charcoal to the paper everything seemed to melt away. The world was vastly different since he came out of the ice and he felt his heart swell thinking about all the fights he had to endure in order to restore some semblance of peace in the universe. He was happy that he had his best friend back, cleared of the mind control Hydra put in him and he made so many new friends and a family in The Avengers. Yet, as he drew out the skyline on the thick white paper, he couldn’t help but feel like he was still missing something. He knew he needed a break from his duties to figure it out constantly being pulled into a fight was a great distraction, but he knew he needed to figure out what brought meaning to his life. The decision to take time off gnawed at Steve like a dog to a bone, who was he if he wasn’t Captain America?

Steve heard you before he saw you, picking up the fierce tone you were using made him glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of your reprimand. Steve looked up to see you wedged in between a woman and her dog and a man probably twice your size towering over you, trying to be intimidating. The fact you stepped forward refusing to back down made Steve smile, oddly fond of your bravery. The commotion you were making drew a small crowd and Steve felt a strange pull to join the group to be close to you. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Following this poor woman around like a stalker,” You yelled, poking your finger in his chest. “Did you think she was being coy when she told you to stop following her? Was that some deranged invitation to keep on top of her the rest of the world is unaware of?”

Steve could tell that you were not about to back down as you protected the other woman. The fire in your eyes was something Steve was familiar with in himself before he went into the ice. He noticed the man ball his hands into fists and before you could react he had pulled back to hit you. Steve jumped in and caught the punch, inches from your face.

“You’re gonna want to walk away pal before you make things worse for yourself.” 

Steve’s voice was low in warning. When he glanced over at you, you looked up at him almost offended that he had stepped in. Before Steve could say anything you returned your gaze to the other man and swiftly kneed him in the balls. 

“Stop following women you fucking asshole,” you admonished as the man crumpled to the ground in pain. “I know you probably have a hard time listening to women when they say no because there is just a bunch of empty space where your brain is supposed to be, but maybe take this as a warning.” 

Steve watched you slack jawed as you flagged down a police officer to give a statement to. He observed you as you spoke with the other woman, who was visibly shaken by the incident, with such genuine concern and kindness. He couldn’t stop looking at you as you soothed her with gentle touches and quiet whispers. Steve waited for his turn to speak with the officers regarding the incident, after which the man was taken into custody. When Steve turned around you were walking towards him. 

“Umm thanks for catching the punch,” you said with a shrug. “I could have taken him though.” 

Steve let out a soft chuckle. 

“Well I wouldn’t be much of a superhero if I stood around and let a civilian get clocked for defending someone.”

You cocked your eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. 

“Yeah but you’re not in the suit, which means you’re off duty. Either way I’m grateful, I have a job interview tomorrow and can’t really show up with a black eye. It wouldn’t really say ‘hire me I’m even tempered and have a keen ability to moderate conflict in a calm respectful manner.’ ”

Steve smiled, letting out a sigh as he cast his eyes to the ground.

 “Oh sweetheart I’m always on duty, comes with the territory.” 

He looked up to see you watching him with kindness and understanding.

“I’m sure that must be a very heavy burden to carry,” You sighed. “I hope you can take a vacation or something soon. It looks like you might need one.”

To say Steve was enamored by you would be the understatement of the century. In the brief time he had spent with you, he had noticed that you were fierce, kind, honest, compassionate, and absolutely stunning. He found himself physically having to shake his head to keep from staring at you.

“I’m Steve,” he blurted out. “I feel like you already know that though. It was really nice of you to say that. Sometimes I only see myself as Captain America, no vacation days in sight.” 

Steve chuckled as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Y/N, and I mean it. You shouldn’t feel like you’re always on duty.”  

You pointed your finger at his chest.

“Besides, I’m a tough girl, I can handle myself. You should trust people a bit more Rogers.” 

You gave Steve a cheeky grin and started walking away.

Steve scrambled to follow you, not ready to have your conversation end.

“So, job interview? What do you do?” 

Steve easily kept your stride. When you chuckled Steve swore his heart skipped a beat.

“Would you believe I’m a victim advocate? I have an interview with the state prosecutor. I make sure anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort is represented and protected during court cases and criminal trials,” you stated proudly. 

“After what I just witnessed, I would have been more surprised if you told me you were an accountant.” Steve joked. “Would it be okay if I walked you wherever you’re going? I know you can handle yourself but I’d like to make sure you don’t leave a trail of broken men in your wake.”

You snorted out laughter. 

“Yeah wouldn’t want to get put away for attacking more skeezy men. That sounds great Captain, thank you.”

Steve smiled and kept asking you questions on your walk. He had this need to know everything he could about you since you blew into his life like a sunshower. When Steve got you back to your apartment the sun was just setting.

“Well Rogers, it’s been an interesting day,” you say, nonchalantly fiddling with your keys.

“I’ll say, I didn’t think my day would consist of watching someone stand up for another woman who almost got punched, then kneeing the guy in the balls.” 

Steve smiled.

“I am pleasantly surprised with the way my day turned out,” he told you.

“Well there’s a lot more where that came from if you stick with me Cap.” 

You smirked at Steve grabbing his sketchbook. 

“Here’s my number, if you ever need a little extra adventure in your life, call me,” you said. 

With that you turned the key in the lock and pushed yourself inside the apartment. Steve was left to stand staring at your closed door. He didn’t know what force drove you into his life but knowing you for those few hours made him feel more alive than he had in years.

[ezrasarm]

Roommates Part 3: KO

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: drunk reader, Santiago is a bad influence, drink responsibly kids! That’s all I think?

A/N: I know it’s been a long wait but the next part is finally here! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

Frankie had been gone for a while. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago and Benny was bound to go on soon. You didn’t want him to miss the fight and get in trouble is what you’d excused the nag in your gut urging you to seek him out as when you were about to go looking for him. You knew he would get an earful if he missed even a second because you were the one in the hot seat last time when you missed a whole fight after being called into work last minute. 

Pope seemed to find you first, shoving a drink in your hand as you peered over his shoulder, expecting Frankie to be close in tow. “You don’t have to sound quite so disappointed you got me instead.” Santiago teased you when you not so subtly asked where he was.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You assured him with a roll of your eyes, giving him a nudge to the shoulder and a thank you for the drink. But if you were being honest, you’d been with Pope all day and had hardly seen Frankie all week. You were beginning to wonder if something was wrong. “He’s right over there. Ran into an old high school classmate and they’re catching up by the bar.” Santiago said with a directed nod of his head and you followed his line of sight over to where you could see the familiar silhouette, corduroy jacket and baseball cap and all, stooped a little with his arms folded over his chest and talking to some woman you’d never seen before. 

You weren’t sure what the feeling that twisted in your stomach was or why it decided to rear its head right now but you found yourself feeling slightly defensive when you turned back to Santiago with eyebrows raised. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting a she and you couldn’t tell why that threw you off so much. Frankie could talk to whoever he pleased, it was none of your business but you still found yourself downing just about half your drink in one go to try and drown whatever feeling it was that had begun growing in your belly.

“That was fast.” Santiago remarked, giving you a skeptical look as he glanced between you and the almost empty cup in your hand, “You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, fine! It’s just been a while since I let loose. Thought I might let myself have some fun tonight.” You shrugged.

He glanced back up in Frankie’s direction and eyed you for a second, taking a moment to consider it, “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded before downing his own drink as though it were a challenge. 

You had lost track of how many beers you and Santiago had snuck behind Will’s back who was too busy to play baby sitter tonight as he usually did. Drinking with him had certainly done its job to distract you. You had almost forgotten all about the fact that your best friend had decided to spend the evening talking to some stranger instead of you. God what had gotten into you? You were not the jealous type and you didn’t like how it felt-

Thud.

You didn’t have time to consider that thought any further before you had run straight into the man of the hour himself on your way back from the bar.

“Shit, sorry- Oh hey!” You exclaimed, having miraculously avoiding throwing your drinks all over both of you with those dumb plastic cups they gave you here.

“Woah, you alright there?” Frankie asks, throwing an arm out to stabilize you. “I swear, I left you alone for ten min- okay an hour and a half and- how many of those have you had?” He asks, noticing the slight wobble to your balance and slur to your speech as you introduced yourself and shook the hand of the woman he had been talking to.

“Uhhh good question,” you ponder for a moment before shrugging “Santi and I found out that if you’re a girl alone at an MMA fight you can get a lot of free drinks so we’ve made it our mission to find out exactly how many.” You explain, shooting a wink and a slight salute over to Pope who was still standing, waiting by your seats.

“And have you gotten an answer yet?” Frankie asks, slightly amused but also positive that he would be making sure this was your last drink of the night when you stumbled slightly over nothing and he had to wrap an arm around you for support.

“It appears there is no limit.” You say proudly, missing the fond look in his eye when he shakes his head with a soft and slightly disbelieving smile.

“Cheryl, this is my uh, roommate.” Frankie says gesturing towards you.

“What, are you embarrassed of me or something’? I’d say we’re a little bit more than that.” You interject. You had meant friends but from the look on her face she appeared to have taken it another way and for some reason or another you felt no need to correct her.

“Oh well uh, it’s nice to meet you.” She says politely although clearly thrown slightly by your quite obvious inebriation. 

“Nice to meet you too, Carol!” You declare happily and you mean it, it’s interesting to see the kinds of people Frankie went to high school with but you really weren’t in much state to be particularly conversational at the moment.

“From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing six foot three, weighing in at a hundred and ninety five pounds, I bring you… Ben Miller!” The announcer blares over the booming speakers, pulling you from your conversation. You and Frankie are quick to give Benny your support, you perhaps a little more enthusiastically in your less inhibited state as he and Will walked into the arena and the crowd roared to life.

“Well we should get back. I’ll never hear the end of it if I miss any of this and I’ve gotta make sure these two don’t get into any more trouble,” Frankie explains, “But it was nice catching up with you.” He says and Carol- Cheryl? One of those- nods.

“Yeah, I hope to see you around again sometime.” She says. She’s hardly turned to walk away before you’re wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Frankie on your way over to Pope and Will.

“You realize she was hitting on you, right?” You asked when Frankie turned back to you, a teasing smile on your lips despite the rising feeling of inadequacy you felt from having stood within a two-meter radius of the gorgeous woman. 

“What? No! She was just-” Frankie cuts himself off after considering it for a moment. “...huh.” He says, eyebrows rising in slight surprise when he looks over his shoulder at the woman who he had already lost in the throngs of people. “I’m sure she was just being polite.”

“You’re too hard on yourself! She was checking you out!” You exclaim defensively, more for his own self esteem than anything else.

“...Me?” He gives you a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, why not you? You’ve got this sort of je ne ce quoi about you. The ladies dig it.” You say with a goofy grin and Frankie can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“That so? What about you?” He asks. For a millisecond your heart stops in your chest. Could he read your mind? Did he know about the thoughts that had just slipped to the forefront? The jealousy? The little bit of longing? It was the alcohol talking you were sure. You would never want to jeopardize your friendship by allowing yourself to picture him as anything more than that but for a flash of a second it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

“Oh, I dig it too.” You say, nudging him in the gut teasingly. What you didn’t see was the way Frankie’s breath had hitched at the slightest inkling of you expressing interest in him, even if he knew you were just joking around. “I bet if you asked you could get her number.” You say and he’s snapped quite violently out of his trance. 

He didn’t want her number. He wanted you.

“Nah, she’s not really my type.” Is the response he settles for, his attention resettling on the fight in an attempt to drown out the feeling of disappointment he wasn’t sure he knew how to hide. He knew it wasn’t fair on you but the slightest hint of jealousy might have been nice to hear and instead you were giving him a rousing endorsement to go after someone he didn’t even like all that much.

“Are you kidding? Pardon the pun, but she was a knockout!” You exclaim just in time to watch Benny take a rather jarring blow to the jaw.

“Meh,” Frankie shrugs and you can’t help the yelp of surprise that escapes you.

“If she’s ‘meh’ then what am I?” You exclaim and Frankie’s jaw just about hits the ground at the fact that you could even think to ask him such a question. You were just about perfect to him in every way imaginable.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell you when the crowd roars to life as Benny finds himself making a comeback and you’re practically jumping out of your seat to bolster your support for your friend.

“You should go get her number.” You suggest when you sit back down, a little confused as to why. Perhaps you were overcompensating for your wave of jealousy earlier but there was still something in you screaming for you to stop acting like you were so okay with it. Because if the way you had reacted earlier and your current state of inebriation was any inclination, you clearly weren’t, but your mind was in no place to put those pieces together at the moment.

“Why is everyone trying to set me up all of a sudden?” Frankie scoffs playfully trying to shrug off your suggestion. “First Pope, now you,” He stops himself hoping you haven’t realized he’s probably said too much.

“Who was Santiago trying to set you up with?” You ask. Just the question he didn’t want to answer, especially not right now, not like this. He’s quite literally saved by the bell announcing the end of the match and when you look up Benny’s opponent is unconscious in front of him. A KO and you’d both missed it. You wouldn’t be getting out of that one too easily. You’re whisked away in post win festivities before you can even think to get an answer from Frankie.

He thinks you’ve forgotten about the conversation completely until he’s gotten you and Pope both wrangled into the car on your way back to the apartment and you pipe up from where he thought you had passed out the moment he had you strapped in. 

“So what’s Francisco Morales’ type?” you ask groggily, clearly not ready to give him a break yet and he laughs as he peers into the rearview to make sure Pope is still asleep before he even considers giving you an answer. 

“What makes you think I have a type?” He counters fruitlessly in hopes that he can at least attempt finding a suitable answer.

“Well you said Carol-”

“Cheryl-”

“-wasn’t your type so I’m assuming that means you have a type.” You prod him, your eyes still shut as you leaned back in the passenger seat.

“Well… I’d say my type would be someone who is smart, funny, supportive, all those wonderful things,” He explains, feeling a little more at ease when he looks over to see your breaths have shallowed slightly and your head has lulled against the window. “Has a good sense of humour, makes me smile, is fiercely loyal to her friends,” he goes on, “can be a complete dork if she wants to be, has no idea how beautiful she is,” he adds “and has me completely and utterly wrapped around her finger.” He mutters to himself when he looks back up at the road with a sigh.

<– previous chapter | Roommates | next chapter –>

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[pappydaddy]

Bandaids (s.h.)

A/N: Honestly, idk what this is. This is the most random thing to pop into my head, but that’s because (for once) I am in a happy, good mindset and I’m not depressed and self-critical! This is a product of me having to go get bandaids and the cheapest ones (and the only ones I could afford) being Hello Kitty bandaids so now I am walking around with a Hello Kitty bandaid on my arm. 

i am currently revamping my blog. i may rewrite this fic, but probably not. right now, i am just making it look my other newer fics! fun fact: this was orginally gonna be called hello kitty bandaids! i am glad i changed it...

pairing: dad!steve harrington x fem!reader 

tv show/movie: stranger things

not requested

warnings: nothing but fluff and steve destroying toxic masculinity and killing it as a dad. there is a sharp object mentioned and the cut is caused by it (it’s a razor - like a full razor) please use your own discretion for reading this!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

  With a sharp intake of air, Steve’s grip around the razor was gone, sending it clattering against the tile of the bathroom as a hissed swear slipped passed his lips without thinking. The hand that held the razor was pressed against his shaving cream streaked face, trying to will away the sting away, instead making it worse. He groaned in agony as the memory of how much it hurt to cut himself while shaving flooded his mind. “Cut yourself?” His wife asked, pushing the cracked door open fully. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, having been cleaning up after breakfast. 

  Steve looked over at her, his hand still holding his jaw. She gave him a sympathetic look, but he could see the laughter wanting to bubble up in the way her shoulders shook ever so slightly. “Yeah, and it hurts like a bitch.” He commented, taking his hand off slowly, turning to look in the mirror, inspecting the invisible cut, a drop of blood trickling down his neck being the only evidence that it was there. Y/n hummed in understanding, shuffling over to him. Steve looked down at her as she sat the dish towel on the counter by the sink. She took his face in her hands gently, careful not to touch the cut. His eyes stayed on her as she turned his head slightly in order to get a good look at the cut. 

  “It’s not a proper diagnosis, but I am ninety-nine percent sure you’re gonna live,” She commented, her fingers releasing his face, the tingling sensation  tricking him to thinking that she still held his face. Even after five years of marriage and eight years together as a couple, her touch still lingered on him. Still in his spot, Steve watched her grab a clean face cloth, soaking it in water before turning to face him again. “Sit.” She told him, pointing to the toilet. He complied instantly, spreading his legs slightly to allow her to stand between them.  

  “You know, this is just like when we were younger,” Steve spoke up as he watched her wipe away the shaving cream, he was thankful that he had just been going over the last spot before finishing or else he would still have to do the rest of his face. “Remember all the times you had to tend to my wounds and I would sit on the edge of the tub or toilet while you stood between my legs focusing on my face? Then I’d bring my hands up like this-” He paused, his hands reaching up to grip her hips, his fingertips resting on her butt. “Then they’d slide to grab your-” His flirtatious reminiscing was interrupted by a high-pitched voice yelling through the house, calling for her mother. He cringed slightly, he loved his Daughter more than words could tell, but her yelling gave him a splitting headache sometimes. “Well, I guess it’s not exactly like when we were younger.” He groaned, letting his hands drop from where they were just about to fully land on Y/n’s butt. She giggled, twisting around to grab the rubbing alcohol. 

  “In here, baby!” She called to her daughter as she soaked the dry part of the face cloth, pressing it to the cut. Steve hissed at the stinging sensation. 

  “That’s different too,” He squeaked, his fists closed tightly as the sting continued. “You used to warn me and were gentle.” He breath in and out as she started to wipe around the cut, cleaning the area. She dropped the cloth on the edge of the sink, capping the alcohol. 

  “Momma, I want to wear my pretty shoes to pre-school today-” Their Daughter walked into the room, her bare feet slapping on the tile. She stopped in her tracks, looking at the couple, watching her mother placing the rubbing alcohol away. “What happened?” She asked with a head tilt, her brown ponytail swinging with the action. Steve and Y/n looked back at their Daughter who was dressed in a pink skirt and a white t-shirt with the words ‘Princess’ scrawled across it in easy-to-read cursive.

  “Nothing Sweetie, Dadda just got hurt and Momma helped take care of him, he’s okay now.” Y/n smiled at her Daughter, bending down to search the cabinet under the sink for bandaids.

  “Did it hurt really bad? Like when I fell playing jump rope?” She continued her round of questions, walking up to her father, looking at him in concern. He chuckled lightly, picking her up to sit her on his thigh, her feet dangling between his open legs. He held onto her, making sure she didn’t fall off his leg. 

  “No, it only hurt for a second, but it still hurt.” Steve reassured her. The second she heard those words, she let relief wash over her. 

  “Did you kiss it better, Momma,” She asked, turning to look at Y/n who was still rooting for bandaids. “Momma’s kisses always make my cuts feel better.” She told Steve matter-of-factly, looking back at him. He faked surprise, pretending to be shocked at the news as if it were a ground-breaking discovery. 

  “Not yet, Sweetie, I’ll kiss it better after I find a bandaid.” Y/n replied, peeking over the cabinet door before dipping back down to continue her search. A shocked gasp left the little girl in Steve’s lap and she instantly started to wiggle, wanting down from her father’s lap. Steve reacted quickly, setting her down on the ground. The second her feet hit the floor, she rushed off out of the room. 

  “I have something else to make him feel better,” She called from another room. Seconds later, she ran back into the bathroom. Y/n stood up, watching as her Daughter rushed right by her and up to her father, holding a pink box of Hello Kitty bandaids to him. “Here you go, Dadda, these make me feel better too. And this way, you can get a Momma kiss sooner.” She pushed the box against his chest, adamant on him using one. 

  “Okay, Momma will put one on me, okay,” Steve told his Daughter softly, gently taking the box from her hand and pulling a random one from the box. “Should I use this one?” He asked her holding the single bandaid in it’s packaging. 

  “Dadda, you can’t choose which one you get! It’s a surprise,” She corrected him, her hands falling to her hips as she scolded him. Y/n held back her laughter, watching her Daughter, who couldn’t even reach the sink, scold Steve about Hello Kitty bandaids. Immediately, her Daughter whirled around to her. “You put the bandaid on Dadda and give him a kiss to make it better while I go find my pretty shoes.” She ordered, walking out of the room. Her parents watched her head out, the box tucked in her hand. 

  “Yes ma’am.” They replied together, shaking their heads at their daughter as they chuckled. Y/n plucked the bandaid from Steve, quickly taking the wrapping off and sticking it to his face. 

  “Ohh, you got a good one, Babe,” She snickered, letting the wrapping fall into the garbage can. Steve hummed, standing in front of the mirror to inspect the bandaid. His eyes landed on the pink bandaid littered with Hello Kitty’s face. “Now, I do believe my boss ordered me to give it a kiss to make it feel better.” 

  “Did she now,” Steve hummed, wrapping his arms around Y/n’s waist to pull her into him. Y/n hummed in response, her eyes dancing happily. “Well, you can’t go against bosses orders-” He trailed off, a smirk on his lips. Rolling up onto her tippy-toes, Y/n placed a kiss over the bandaid, crashing back down onto her heels. Her lips had barely touched the bandaid, let alone him. He hummed, pretending to think. “Nope, not better.” 

  “Not better? Well, I guess this calls for another dose,” Y/n played along, pressing another, longer kiss to the bandaid before pulling away. “Any better now,” She asked. Steve shook his head. “I guess I’ll just have to try and administer it elsewhere, huh?” She perked an eyebrow, Steve’s eyes widening for a split second before her lips attached themselves to his. Compared to what he had originally thought, it was a let down, but the kiss was soft and lingering. The kind that made his head spin with the kind of intimacy that you couldn’t find anywhere else, a different intimacy than what was found in the bedroom, but also a different intimacy than holding each other. He couldn’t describe it, only being able to come up with one word: mind shattering. Whenever she kissed him like this, he couldn’t think of anything else, just her and the feeling of their lips moving together. 

 She pulled away, leaving a stunned Steve, his lips still lightly puckered. “Your kisses really do make things all better.” He said, coming back down to earth. Y/n giggled, shaking her head as her Husband. 

  “I’m glad you feel better, now, I have to go find some shoes then make some calls for work,” She patted his chest, rolling her lips together, still feeling the same aftershocks of the kiss that Steve was feeling. “Have a good day at work, Babe.” She pressed another, quick, kiss to his lips, him reciprocating for the split second. And with that kiss, she slipped out of the room in search for their Daughter’s pretty shoes. Steve smiled, righting his work clothes and leaving the room himself, flicking the light off on his way out. 

  Walking into the his work, tucking his keys into his pocket, he still had that big smile on his face. He almost forgot all about the bandaid on his face, but the adhesive was tugging at his face from his cheek crinkling from his wide smile. “Harrington? Is that a Hello Kitty bandaid on your face?” His co-worker snickered, followed by his other co-workers joining in on the laughter. 

  “Yeah, it is.” He proudly announced, setting his stuff down. The males laughed, but their laughter didn’t bother Steve. He didn’t care about what his co-worker’s thought. Most of them nearly fell off their chairs at the first Christmas Party when Y/n had walked in. When they found out that she was married to Steve, they had all but passed out right then and there - not understanding how he had managed to ‘snag a good one like her’ as they put it. Y/n often commented about them when Steve’s come home stressed from the crap they put him through, saying that many of them are jealous, insecure men who think the world owed them everything simply because they were men.  

  “Next thing you know, you’ll be coming in with a purse and heels!” Another one piped up, laughing as if he had just said the best joke in the whole world. 

  “He already comes in with his nails painted!” Yet another one pointed at Steve’s bright pink nails. The polish had just finally come off of his skin and they looked really good, his Daughter improving at painting nails. Clearing his throat, the guys stopped their laughter, thinking he was going to join in on the jokes, but when he turned around, their joking manner disappeared. 

  “If my Daughter gives me a purse and heels to bring to work, then yes, I will be coming into work with a purse and heels. And if you guys have a problem with that, you can keep it to yourselves.” He shut them down, starting his day of work as the other guys just blinked at him. He smiled, looking at the picture of his little family, thinking about what he was going to be coming home to: his two girls and he couldn’t be happier. Well, maybe if there was one more, but that was a thought for another day.              

[procrastinatorimagines]

I Want Us Part 3

Fandom: SVU / One Chicago

Series: I Want Us

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Final)

Pairing: Carisi x Reader

Warning/s: kidnapping, guns/shooting

Word Count: 2,602

Summary:  When a child abduction case crosses state lines in New York, Intelligence flies out to meet the Special Victims Unit and track down the missing boy. With the clock ticking, both units decide to mix up partners in order to combine their knowledge of the case with knowledge of New York City, pairing Intelligence’s newest member Y/N with Detective Carisi. After a successful stakeout the pair finds themselves on the tail of the suspect, determined to bring him to justice and bring the boy back home.

Tags: @the-baby-bookworm​ // @inlovewith3​ //

Action came sooner than you were expecting, both you and Carisi silently agreeing that the gun shots that sounded from inside the building constituted absolutely necessary as burst from the car, gun out your holster in seconds as you peered around the fence.

A man was running out of the building, Ronny you assumed by the child he was forcefully dragging along under his left arm. Even in the available light, it was clear both were unharmed, the metalic glint of an object in Ronny’s right hand causing you to make the fair assumption that he’d fired the shots you heard.

There was no way to sneak up on him, but soon you lost all need to as he paused by the car he’d arrived in, hesitating before frantically looking around and taking off down the road and into the night.

“We can’t lose him,” you said forcefully, both of you making your way quickly to the entrance of the bar just as another car rolled up. Halstead and Rollins jumping out.

“We’ve got Ronny and Logan, there are at least two men inside, potentially injured,” Carisi told the others, you and Halstead sharing a nod as you followed Carisi down the street, hearing the others disappear into the building followed shortly by a request for two ambulances to their location over the radio.

You followed just behind Carisi, hands gripping your gun as you made your way down the street, footsteps echoing in the silent night. Ronny had heard, glancing back at you before picking up his pace, but if your footsteps could be heard down the road, Logan’s cries and shouts were unmissable. He disappeared around a corner and you lowered your gun slightly in one hand, sprinting with Carisi, the sound of Logan’s despair all the motivation you needed to not slow down for a second.

Not only had this man abducted his own child, he’d just shot two men in front of him. You didn’t understand how anyone could do that, and you never wanted to.

As you reached the corner Carisi signaled for you to hold back, checking the coast was clear before you took off running again, Ronny still on the move. He was getting slower though, you realised, and you weren’t surprised given the uncooperative child under his arm.

He peeled off down and ally as you continued to give chase, seemingly trying to lose you both with his various twists and turns. It wouldn’t work though, you had him now and he wasn’t getting away.

Stopping again to check the coast it was your turn to peer around the edge of a wall, your head barely going an inch before you jumped back, brick breaking off where your head had just been.

“Dead end,” Carisi whispered to you, apparently knowing where you were. Ronny was trapped, which may have been worse you realised with a sinking feeling. He was already a desperate man, and desperate men often thought they had nothing left to lose.

“Ronny!” You called down the ally, your voice bouncing off the stones as Logan’s sobs quietened. “Ronny there’s nowhere else to go, just put the gun down and let us take you in, it’s over, no one else has to get hurt.” You tried to sound demanding but it came out as more of a plea.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said back, though it sounded like he was talking more to himself than you, “he’s my son, mine! He should be with me, it’s what I deserve-”

Your blood was boiling, knowing full well that all that man deserved was a jail cell. Still, you could tell he was unravelling, and that wasn’t good for anyone, least of all Logan. With a ‘trust me’ look to Carisi you holstered your gun, taking a breath as you stepped out into the opening of the ally, in full view of Ronny and his gun.

Carisi’s eyes went wide in protest and he reached out to pull you back but you shook your head at him. Looking down to Ronny and Logan, you were staring down the barrel of a gun, hands raised as Ronny stood frozen, not expecting you to be so stupid probably. You got that a lot.

“Hey Ronny, hey Logan, my name’s Y/N, I’m a detective with the Chicago police department,” you told them, keeping your hands where he could see them at all times. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Carisi with his finger on the trigger, ready to jump in if this got out of hand.

“Don’t come any closer!” Ronny waved the gun in his hand at you.

“I won’t,” you told him, “okay, I just want to talk okay? See if we can figure this out huh, so how about you tell me what happened?” Make him think you understand him, sympathise with him, make him think your on his side and let his guard down, de-escalate the situation.

“He’s my son, but she wouldn’t let me have him, wouldn’t even let me see him when I was inside, and when I got out... a restraining order?! What gave her the right? No... no no no, so I took him, I took what was mine and I came here, O’Connell promised- he promised!” Ronny ranted as you tried to keep your features neutral as images of the beat down he’d done to his ex wife flashed through your head.

“He lied to you, broke that promise,” you prodded, trying to sound indignant on his behalf so he’d open up more.

“Yes! Said there was too much publicity, he wouldn’t risk getting us out the country, I mean the selfishness- I did what I had to do,” He told you, gun lowering slightly as he poured out some of his frustration.

You inched yourself forward a step, then another, noticing Carisi practically stop breathing from where he stood, completely alert and ready to step in.

“And he shouldn’t have done that, okay, I get it, you’re the victim here alright, so why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about that huh,” you tried, “it’s clear you love your son okay? Look at him Ronny, look at how scared he is.”

Ronny glanced down at his boy as you took the chance to take another couple of small steps. He was shaking and pale, snot and tears covering his face as his bottom lip shook uncontrollably.

“No!” Ronny snapped, gun back up at you as Logan shrunk back in fear, “you’re scaring him, this is all you!”

You level your breathing and straightened up, “I’m not the one holding a gun Ronny,” you said with a scary calm, watching the realisation dawn on Ronny as he looked from the gun in hand, to his son, who was staring at the weapon with trepidation.

“I...” he floundered. Was he a monster? Yes, but every monster had a weakness.

“Give me the gun Ronny,” you told him as he glanced from it to you, not really registering how much closer to him you had been in the beginning.

“You’ll take me back to jail, I can’t go back to jail,” he muttered, but the gun looked suddenly very heavy in his outstretched hand as he weighed the decision in his mind.

You were very close to him now, so close that what happened next was too quick for Carisi to react to. Logan took that moment to bolt, his father’s grip on him slacking enough for him to break free as he ran past you to try and get away. You didn’t blame him for a second, if you were his age you would have done the same thing, you’d even been anticipating it.

So when Ronny’s focus snapped back, rage filling his eyes again as he now viewed you as someone else trying to keep him from his son, grip tightening back on his gun again with a new found purpose as he began to take aim, you were ready.

Carisi barely had time to step out from around the corner, gun raised but unable to take a clear shot as a small boy collided with him, hiding behind his legs as his father let out a cry of anger.

Ronny was fast, but you were faster, catching his wrist and twisting it around so you ended up behind him, his arm behind his back as you aimed a kick to the back of one of his knees, knocking him to the ground. Ronny tried to twist but you was it coming, shoving him forward so he lost balance and sprawled onto his front on the floor. You kicked the gun across the floor and out of his reach, planting your knee on his back as he struggled, grappling with his wrists as you cuffed him.

“Ronny Parker, you’re under arrest for kidnapping and attempted murder,” you told him, looking up and grinning at a relieved Carisi just as the glorious sound of sirens could be heard approaching from down the street.

Carisi put a comforting hand on Logan’s head as he continued to hug the man’s knees, shaking his head at your actions as you hauled the protesting Ronny to his feet.

Logan looked away as his father was brought past him, struggling to get away from you as you held him fast.

“That was... reckless,” Carisi commented, earning a smug wink from you as you passed Ronny off to a couple of uniforms that had arrived on the scene, the rest of Intelligence and SVU in tow.

“It’s her middle name,” you heard Antonio say, turning to see him approaching with Voight and Benson, who carefully coaxed Logan away from Carisi’s legs.

“Well Logan’s safe and Ronny’s going back to jail for a long time, good job guys,” Benson congratulated you both.

“Honestly Cap? All her,” Carisi told her, gesturing with his head in your direction as Antonio clapped you on the back. You put your hands in your pockets, accepting the praise as you tried to cover up the fact that your hands were shaking.

“Good job detective, you ever consider a change of scenery you let me know,” Benson told you.

“You trying to poach my detectives?” Voight asked and Benson chuckled, saying something to a uniform before Logan was escorted back to a vehicle. He seemed a little reluctant, but at the mention of his mom he couldn’t have moved quicker if he’d tried.

You smiled as you watched Logan wander off, back to his family and his home. You wanted to go with him, but you knew you’d have a lot of paperwork to do before the night was actually over, and it was already past 3 am.

“Hey,” Carisi appeared beside you as he removed his vest, “want a ride back to the station?”

You took a breath of the not so cool night air, sweaty from the heat and the chase, in desperate need of some food and a shower, then sleep. But you weren’t finished just yet, so you gave an appreciative nod to Carisi and let Voight know that you were going to make your statement and write up your report.

He let you go and soon you were making your way down the street with Carisi, back to your car near the bar, which was currently swarming with police and forensics. Carisi greeted a few of them in passing and before you knew it you were driving back to the district.

“Your gut was right afterall,” Carisi noted. You’d found Logan, he was safe, and Ronny wasn’t going to ever be able to hurt him again. It had been a long night, but you’d done good, so you allowed yourself a moment of satisfaction.

“Hell of a night, but yeah I guess so,” you replied, staring off out of the window as the buildings and lights passed by. New York was something else, and you wished you’d gotten a chance to see more of it under better circumstances, and during the day, but it had certainly been memorable.

Your hands weren’t shaking quite so much anymore, but jumping in front of a man with a loaded gun had certainly rattled you more than you’d let on. It had been reckless, more so than usual, but your need to protect Logan and get Ronny behind bars had overridden that bit of sense. It had paid off this time, but you really did have to be more careful, or so Antonio kept telling you.

You turned back from the window when you noticed Carisi throw you a couple of glances as he drove. “You know, there’s a pizza place not too far from here, they’re not gourmet, but they are open this time of night.”

Before you could answer, your stomach growled, earning a laugh from Carisi as he changed course, discussing the best toppings as he did.

Soon, you were both back at his desk at the district, a couple of others had came and went, offering pats on the back for a job well done, but you and Carisi found yourself talking even further into the night until both the paperwork and pizza were done, feeling very satisfied.

“I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t the truest representation of the best New York pizza,” Carisi laughed, throwing on his jacket as you both got up to leave.

It was going on half 4 in the morning, and any food and drink you had after dark hit differently, especially after a long case on a nearly empty stomach. “You won’t hear me complaining,” you replied.

God, you needed a shower, you thought as you put your jacket over your arm, knowing that it would just feel way too uncomfortable and hot to put it on. Voight had booked you all into some cheap motels for the night, but the picture Vanessa had sent you earlier on was making you dread the experience. Carisi had visibly cringed when he’d seen it.

“I know I should probably head to sleep when I get home, but I’m still a little too wired,” Carisi said as you made your way towards the exit.

“I know what you mean,” you told him, eyes and mind still wide awake after the events of the night.

“What, not looking forward to getting back to your five star accommodation?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.

“God don’t remind me,” you complained, earning a laugh at your expense, “but it’s either that or sleep on the street... though the street might actually be more appealing.”

A odd kind of silence filled the elevator then, neither of you seeming to know what to say next before the doors dinged open and you wandered out back into the night, or well, more like very early morning.

“You could... stay somewhere else?” Carisi offered, half awkwardly half suggestively. Was he, suggesting what you thought he was?

Your heart skipped a beat, taking in Carisi as he stood before you, a look on his face that definitely told you he was unsure of whether he should have said that or not. You were still wired, and you’d had half a mind to do a quick workout back at the motel to let off some more steam to try and take a grimey shower and sleep, but that was before you now had another option...

“Lead the way,” you answered, smiling as he did too, your night in New York continuing to surprise you in the best possible ways...

[weatherman667]

SwSh Hilarity

Now, I’m not going to focus on the legitimate criticism about SwSh.  I disagree with most of it, but no, this is about Gamejournos and other faux scandals.

So, first of all, we have Nessa, a Pakistani woman who is about as far away from the stereotype of Pakistanis in the UK as possible.  This was an incredibly obvious an attempt at subverting racial stereotypes and healing the racial divide in the UK.

So, first of all, people don’t wear swim suits in the UK when they swim, as it’s too cold.  Next, it’s sexist to put the female trainer in a swim suit, despite the fact every single water-type trainer in Pokemon wears a swim suit.  Further, she’s not Pakistani, she’s Black, a white-washed, colourism Black.  If you don’t draw her blacker than her official art shows, you are a racist against Black people.

Alright, let’s move on to Gloria and Victor

these are the default trainers that fans have named.  I rejected it at first, as the point is you can be whomever you want to be!

But then cute comics about Gloria started popping up which changed my mind.  So, you see that hat?  That’s a Tam o’Shanter, a Scottish cap.  So, they decided to make her Scottish, and gave her a Scottish accent.  How did the Scots react?, they loved the idea and helped the artist improve the Scottish dialogue.  How did Tumblrinas react?  

Those poor, defenceless Scots.  Won’t someone stop this one person on the internet from creating a cute comic with their accent?  The artist was then bullied into hiding from the internet, and we lost the bloody cute comic.  The comic also featured Nessa, and heavily implied she was a lesbian.  You think a Pakistani lesbian in the UK would be the most oppressed person, but, this is where Tumblr assumed she was Black because?.. and then attacked the artist for not making her Black enough.  Even proof showing that she used a simplified version of the original colour pallet was not enough to stop the angry hordes.

This is probably why the Critical Drinker drinks.

Alright, next is Hop, the best friend I never wanted.  He thought we were rivals, but was only ever a challenge to me when I didn’t have my starter or Corviknight.

And his older brother, Leon

The FORMER champion.

heh.

Anyways, the fact that the game drops a brown best friend in your lap gets completely ignored.  Along with the fact that Victor gets less interest than Gloria.  The Champion of the UK is his equally brown older brother.

The game goes out of it’s way to make sure that no collection of people are White, even to the point it doesn’t even come close to matching the actual ethnic makeup of the UK.  That’s what the progressives want, right?  So, Pokemon SwSh should be celebrated for it’s inclusivity?

Actually, no, some fans headcannoned Leon as trans, and it’s now transphobia to not believe he’s trans.

[stonyslovestory]

See You Next Friday

‘Wanna come upstairs and have one last drink?’ Steve asked with a smile. He knew, of course, that between the three of you he was the only one who would not have a proper headache in the morning if you actually did decide to come upstairs and have another drink with them. But he offered anyway. Because he wanted to have you and Tony upstairs.

Why? He didn’t really know himself. Or rather he did know, he just didn’t want to know that he knew. The only thing that *you* knew was that you wanted to come upstairs. And for exactly the same reasons too – which of course, you didn’t want to know that you knew either.

‘I’ll come with but no more drinks for me or I’ll puke.’ Tony groaned, maneuvering his clearly drunk body into the elevator of Avengers’ Tower that had just opened its doors in front of you.

‘I think I’ve had enough too,’ you say with a coy smile, ‘but I’ve always wanted to see Avengers’ Tower from the inside.’

This was a lie. Well, maybe it wasn’t as much a lie as a half-truth obscuring the real reasons you wanted to come upstairs. Which – as already mentioned – you didn’t want to think about too hard for they might actually have revealed themselves to you or anyone other in this elevator which would have been not good. Very bad in fact. Certainly not desirable. Unless…

No. It would be bad. It would destroy your friendship with the guys and possibly their friendship with each other as well and most certainly it would destroy Tony’s relationship with Pepper. You did not want that, you were sure of that.

So why did you, when the doors of the elevator opened again some 80 stories higher, not say your good-byes and leave – but instead step out into what you could only assume was Steve’s waaay-too-big-for-one-person bedroom, your eyes widening as you took in the breathtaking view over New York City? Because you wanted to see Avengers’ Tower from the inside. Duh.

The room smelled of freshly washed clothes and the flowery sweet scent of magnolias of which someone had placed a small bouquet on the table next to the glass front overlooking the city. Red, blue and white lights flashed on the streets below you, casting a gorgeous play of colors onto the walls of the large room that otherwise was only lit up by a dimmed standing lamp next to the door.

‘Mind if I just sleep on your couch, Cap…’ Tony mumbled, his body already flopping onto the large dark blue sofa standing next to the lower end of the king size bed in the middle of the room which looked to you like the most comfortable place in the world right now. Like, THE most comfortable place.

‘You can have the couch as long as I get the bed.’ you say as you fling your high heels into the next corner and with a – for your state of drunkenness – admirably graceful jump land on the soft white sheets, feeling their smooth fabric and stretching your tired limbs.

‘You could at least make some space for me,’ Steve laughed as he sat down on the other side of the bed, taking off his shoes and lying down beside you. Your hands didn’t touch but he was close enough so you could feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the scent of aftershave that had by now worn off its sharp citrus notes that it had had at the beginning of the night when he, Tony and you had met in a bar not far from here to have some drinks and catch up as you did almost every Friday evening. But now – hours and a few too many fancy cocktails later – all that was left was a dark, warm smell of wood and leather.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ Steve spoke, so softly that you almost missed it. ‘Very nice.’ you reply, not daring to open your eyes or say too much, in fear that you would wake up only to find this perfect moment was only a dream.

So you kept your eyes closed and your breath even and calm even when you felt a hand brush over your waist, just firm enough so Steve was sure that you could feel him. You didn’t move as his hand glid up your body, touching first your waist, then the side of your chest and then your collarbone. You didn’t even dare to react when you could feel the soldier’s soft hand slowly brushing down between your breasts, over your stomach and down your right thigh. You knew you probably should have objected but in this moment it was pure bliss.

‘What the fuck are you guys doing.’ you suddenly heard a snarl from the other side of the room where Tony had stopped sleeping off his buzz and now instead was sitting as straight as he could manage on the couch a few meters away from you, his eyes fixed on Steve’s hand that was still gliding ever so gently over your body.

‘Nothing, really’ you heard Steve reply ‘just giving you a little show.’ as with one quick motion he lifted your body as if you weighed nothing to him, propping you up on both of your knees. His strong left arm was wrapped around your waist, pressing your body against his own behind you and you knew that he was showing you off to his friend at the other side of the room, as his right hand kept moving up and down your body. But you didn’t dare to look up and meet either one of their gazes.

Your mind raced as lust mixed with thoughts of how wrong this was. Well. It wasn’t actually that wrong as long as Tony didn’t join, you were single after all – as was Steve. But even like this it felt wrong. Because you wanted Tony to join and you knew that he wanted it too. You could feel it in his stare even though you still didn’t dare to meet it. You knew because you had seen it in his eyes before, many times, although arguably less intense, less urgent than in this moment.  

And Steve? He knew Tony couldn’t join, wouldn’t join, would hate him for taunting him like this in the morning. But he didn’t mind. Because he had seen the look in his eyes too, all those nights when the three of you had gone out to drink and have fun and to carefully not talk about what you would have rather done instead.

‘Stop it.’ Tony growled, his voice darker and lower than you had ever heard it before.

‘You can leave if you want.’ Steve mocked, knowing very well that Tony would stay, no matter what happened. ‘Isn’t that right, darling?’ he added, his voice sickly sweet as his right hand wrapped around your neck.

Your eyes shot up, finally meeting Tony’s and you couldn’t hold back a moan that you immediately regretted. Tony looked tortured. There was no better word for it. He looked like he was about to jump at the two of you, although you didn’t know if it was to kiss or kill you. And the only thing that kept him from doing so was that he still wasn’t certain if he could stand upright without falling over, his eyes bloodshot from the last two shots of liquor that he now was sure all three of you shouldn’t have had.

‘I should leave.’ you mumble, regretting your words as soon as you spoke them, but knowing it was the right thing to do.

‘That would probably be better.’ Steve replied and you could still hear the taunting smile in his voice as he eased the grip around your body and gave you a soft kiss on your cheek before letting go completely.

‘Good night, Tony.’ you said a few seconds later, as you had regained your composure and your heels from the corner in which you had flung them just a few minutes earlier, before all of this had happened.

‘Good night.’ Tony replied, pulling you into a hug after he had (surprisingly enough) managed to stand up. ‘We’ll see you next Friday.’

[noir-blackout]

Soft Bias Challenge

Admin Inky here! @yunsungsredhoodie said in the tags that others should do this so, here ya go~ (Onyx I'm excited for you to do this)

1. Who's your bias?

신승훈

2.  What made you notice them?

I mean, he's one of the four members in my personal acceptable age range (not that that's always contained me before...), so I guess he was a little bit on my radar from the start, but I was all enamoured with Yunsung and then... Sunghoon was just there. In my face. In my brain.

In particular, in the instagram video of them goofing around/practicing Beautiful when it pans over to him I remember thinking something along the lines of "wow, I'm ruined.", though less coherent than that.

Also, in the gifset of them being cute where there's the "Bonus" at the end of him being embarrassed. Those two things flipped the already-teetering Inky off the fine-with-Seunghoon cliff.

3. What’s your favourite thing about them?  

He has this casual power to him. He radiates it. He's confident, but not in an arrogant/cocky way. Not obnoxiously. He knows himself and what he's capable of and wears it proudly, but he's still humble.

He's a good leader and takes it seriously, but he doesn't take himself too seriously.

He just feels stable. He feels reliable.

(Bet you all expected it to be his tongue...)

4. Who would initiate skinship more?

Probably him - he's actually very skinshippy, which I love. He's so soft and gentle when it comes to skinship.

5. Who would hog all the blankets?

Me. Without a doubt. He can solve this by being near me and keeping me warm~

6. Who would be more clingy?

Emotionally, or? Emotionally I'm not very clingy, but if you're trying to leave the house and I don't want you to then I can be clingy. I feel like we would be similar? Neither of us very clingy.

7. Who would say ‘I love you’ first?

I have no qualms about saying it first, but TECHNICALLY he's already told me he loves me. Through vlive. Soooo.

I'm sure he didn't mean everyone watching.

8. Who would get more flustered?

That would be me. He's dealing with fans telling him sweet things all the time, and I'm sure that doesn't make him find those things less sweet, but it probably means he's adjusted and isn't flustered all the time.

I, on the other hand, felt my heart drop out of my body when he smiled and waved at me. I flustered myself/was flustered by his stupid incredible smile when I told him he was handsome.

9. What cuddling position would you two have?

Him sitting reclined on the couch or in bed. Me sort of half-beside half-on-top of him with my head tilted back against his chest and his arms wrapped around me. He can lean forward gently and kiss my head, if he feels so inclined.

10.  What colours remind you of them and why?

Yellow because of the instagram video where the GIFs above are from where he's wearing the yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up because I've watched that video more than probably anything else... Also, there's something else where he's wearing yellow that I'm going to share soon... (호랑이~)

The dark blue/black of his hair.

The deep red of his stupid velour tracksuit. I hate how much I find it endearing ugh.

11. What season would you like to spend with them?

Fall because have you seen him in the turtlenecks and long coats? And he can also wear hoodies because Seunghoon in a black hoodie (+ a baseball cap) looks like such a boyfriend it makes my heart ache.

I hate winter but I just imagined him brushing the snow out of his hair and then smiling why did I do that no.

12. Who would bake the cookie and who would steal the batter?

I feel like we're both batter stealers and Minhyuk would come back to the kitchen not-even-surprised to find he can now only make 50% of the anticipated cookies...

13. Who would make bad puns and how would the other react?

Despite him being a grandpa, I feel like I would be the one making the puns.

He'd react with this look...

... and then by walking over, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a hug, and murmuring "You're so lame" against my hair.

14. Who would want to adopt 50 dogs and cats?

I would want to adopt 50 cats because yes please thank you. He would tell me I could only choose one cat. We would compromise and go home with two cats so they could have each other as friends.

15.  Which one of you would nearly burn down the kitchen trying to microwave a pop tart and who would come to rescue?

I wouldn't because YOU DON'T MICROWAVE POPTARTS?? You toast them in a toaster...

Moving beyond this, I'm not actually sure cause I feel like he's been taking care of himself for a long time so he should be able to use a kitchen at a basic level, but then I realize I have also been "taking care of myself" *shamefully thinks about the recycling bin full of pizza boxes I put out yesterday* for a long time, and I'm not so kitchen-adept, so...

16. Who likes to lean over trail railings and who pulls them back?

I would probably lean over and Seunghoon would either pull me back or (preferably) stand behind me with his arms around my waist to keep me from leaning too far.

17. What would watching a horror film with them be like?

My face would be in his chest the entire time. Occasionally he'd gently scratch my head and ask "Want a dorito?" and I would nod, pull back slightly and allow myself to be fed a dorito. When something scary/startling happened on screen he would jolt slightly and I would chuckle into his chest and he would feign outrage at my laughing at him cause I'm not even watching the movie.

Okay:

a) writing this killed me I am dead now.

b) I want to write this as a drabble but I basically just wrote it... I could expand it?

18.  Who would be the cheesy flirt and who would be the smooth flirt?

Onyx said he was flirting with me at Simply Kpop and he seemed pretty smooth then so

I am a ball of cheese.

19.  Who is more competitive?

He wasn't the most competitive in Action Noir, so it might be me.

20. Who would be given constant reminders?  (Don’t forget your keys, things like that)

Me because I need them. And because he would give them. And this fact makes me feel very warm inside. He would take care of me. Writing that sentence made my heart melty.

21.  Who sends memes and who sends cute ‘I miss you’ texts at 3am?

I would send memes and he would send cute 'I miss you' texts at 3am...